Whenever a new business moved in next door to Jack's Music, they were never there for much more than a year. Jack could never be sure why. It wasn't like he ran the shops out of business, the area of town wasn't crime-ridden, and the space was clean and nice. Everyone just left after a year or so. Which led Jack to believe that the rental space next to his shop was cursed; a somewhat reasonable assumption given the evidence he'd been provided over the last five years.

So, when a new business moves in after four months of a vacant lot, Jack immediately starts taking bets with himself on how long the new business owner would last.

He isn't sure what kind of business it was at first. No sign goes up. Crisp boxes with clean lines of tape drift through the back-loading door and come back out unpacked with no hint as to what came in them. He doesn't see the owner. He can't see through the papered-up windows.

When he comes in the next Monday to open up, a sign has been put up on the building in swirling, turquoise cursive. One work stares down at him—"Silk".

The papers have been taken down from the windows, heavy dark blue drapes hanging in their place. And there the word is again, same font—"Silk"—with hours of operation, a website, and a phone number.

So, it's that kind of store.

He laughs to himself, shaking his head before flipping through his keys to unlock the front door to his store. He pitied the poor woman that decided to set up a lingerie store next door to his music shop.

At first, Jack doesn't notice that the traffic flow to the store had change at all. He was used to having customer's float in and out throughout the day. He was good about not being all that disappointed when he didn't sell any instruments, but people were always coming in for CD's, vinyl, sheet music, or to have their strings changed. He still had some that came in for cassette tapes, and hell, he couldn't blame them. He still listened to tapes in his car.

But it seems like more people were coming in; the kinds of customers he wasn't used to having. He was used to the music snobs, the nitpickers, the indie-rockers. Used to the kids with hair too-long in need of a wash or the ones with tattoos. Alternative, that was his usual scene. But in addition to that, now he was getting girls in their twenties, tittering back and forth as they browsed. Young couples browsing together. Men in ties, asking about guitar prices so they might get one for their kid.

But, most of the time, one of them had a little black bag in hand, blue letters of 'Silk' printed across the side. Was his neighbor somehow attracting more business for him? From a lingerie store? It was bizarre. Whoever this woman was, he felt like he should meet her, at the very least to say thank her for attracting more business.

So that's what he has in mind. He'll catch her around closing time, offer to buy her a drink in thanks, maybe get to know her a little better.

He locks up the store about five minutes early that day. He thinks it might be easier to wait outside, but he's been a little curious about the shop for a while.

So, he goes in.

The shop is different than he expected. See, in the past, Jack had always associated "lingerie store" with "sex store", but this wasn't that at all. Wall to wall, it was lingerie—fancy lingerie—separated by fabric type, then color, then size.

No owner in sight.

"Hello?" Jack calls, stepping further in, wrapping his knuckles against the checkout counter. It's more of a glass case. When he peers down into it, there's jewelry—body chains, belly button rings, little bedazzled screws and bars that he's not sure he wants to know where—

"Sorry, I was just about to close up. Is there something I can help you with?"

Jack looks across the counter where the voice had come from. He must've been so distracted by the little pieces of metal to notice the owner appearing.

His first thought is that "this is not a woman".

His second thought is "oh, fuck, he's cute."

Jack clears his throat. "I'm Jack. I run the shop next door."

The guy smiles. His hair is slicked back off his forehead. He's got a tape measure down his shoulders, almost like a scarf. "Nice to meet you, I'm Rhys."

They shake hands. Rhys squeezes gently and Jack comes away from it feeling like he's been shocked. Of course, a man can run a lingerie store if he wants to, but Jack hadn't been expecting that. More so, he hadn't expected him to be cute of all things.

"So, what brings you in today?" Rhys steps around the counter. His hips sway when he walks. "All our chiffon is twenty percent off. Is there something in particular you're looking for?"

"I—" Then he blinks. "What's chiffon?"

Rhys chuckles to himself. "Well, who are you shopping for?"

"I'm not." Jack shakes his head. "I just came to thank you for all the business you've been sending my way, and I wanted to ask if you wanted to get a drink."

"When?"

"Now."

Rhys smiles apologetically. "As lovely as that sounds, I can't tonight."

"Oh."

"Maybe Saturday?"

Jack acts like he's thinking about it, but Barhopping on a Saturday night was kind of his thing anyways.

"Sure."

"Pick me up at closing time?"

"You got it, cupcake."

Jack didn't realize how long a wait it was from Tuesday to Saturday, and he really wasn't used to waiting. It's Thursday now, and business is slow. He'd like to imagine that Rhys is having a slow day, too.

Jack sits in the back corner of the store, tuning the Blueridge he's had on the back wall for the past few months. He used to be mad that she wasn't selling, but now he's grown sort of attached to her.

"Come on, sweetheart…" He strums again before smiling to himself. "Perfect."

The door chimes and Jack returns the guitar to the rack before turning to the customer and smiling. "Anything I can help you with, sir?"

"Actually." It's a shorter guy with glasses. Dopey smile on his face. "Rhys asked me to drop this off for you." He sets a scrap of fabric on the counter.

Jack looks at the little blue scrap before scooping it up. It's thin, sort of gauzy, but soft. "Um, thanks, but why?"

"He said he couldn't believe that you didn't know what chiffon was." The guy shakes his head, laughing. "I'm Vaughn, by the way."

Jack quirks a brow, folding the chiffon into his pocket. "Did you need something else?"

"Nope." Vaughn shrugs. "Later."

Then he's gone.

Jack shakes his head and goes back to his guitars.

Jack is playing music in the store louder than he usually does. He found one of his old tapes in his car, so naturally he hooks it up in the shop, singing at the top of his lungs because it's a slow day again.

He's on a step stool, dusting off vinyl's.

He's belting out the second verse of Bad Company's "Holy Water" when he hears the door chime open.

"Be with you in a moment!" and then he's singing again, growling out the words as he climbs down before turning and stopping in his tracks.

Rhys is standing there, arms folded across his chest.

"Shouldn't you be at your shop next door?"

"The heavy rock is sort of killing the mood. Not that I mind your singing, but it's not exactly ideal for the kind of store I'm running."

Jack's face flushed as he crossed back to the counter, switching off his stereo. "My bad."

"Still on for tomorrow?" Rhys raises his eyebrow.

"Of course, we are."

"Good, good." Rhys waves over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow night."

Jack feels like he's swallowed an apple whole.